


like one, two, three

by leetlebird



Series: Lax Bro AU [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Camping, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 04:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18161555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetlebird/pseuds/leetlebird
Summary: “Oh my god, talk to me. I don’t care that you think fishing is supposed to be this sacred holy time to look at trees or whatever. I’m bored.”Evan looks over at Puppy. He smiles serenely and then slowly turns his head to look back out at the water again.“Oh, look who’s so funny,” Puppy says.





	like one, two, three

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Puppy/Evan fluff that I want to see in the world, even if it’s been a year and a half since I last updated this series. Never give up on your dreams!
> 
> I’m not sure how many people will try to read this without checking out the two previous works first, but just in case -- these dudes are Samwell grads, best friends newly turned boyfriends, and were absolute lax bros during their Samwell days. I love them.
> 
> Road trip playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1TorVF0QCtUJgCPnw4QLm5). It’s Evan’s fault that it’s all country. Title from “Simple” by Florida Georgia Line.

  


  


  


  


It feels right to notice all the shiny things about you  
About you there is nothing I wouldn’t want to know  
With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler

[...]  
The music picks up again, I am the man I hope to be.

  


  


\- Peter Gizzi, “Lines Depicting Simple Happiness”

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


August 2018

  


  


  


  


  


  


Evan had wanted to take his sensible sedan when they went camping. Puppy had begged and bribed to drive his turquoise convertible, a process that Evan had definitely enjoyed, but they eventually agreed that the thing to do was borrow Ransom’s horrible green mini-van.

“Look how they come crawling back,” Ransom had remarked to Holster that morning, when Evan and Puppy had stopped by their place to pick up the keys. “They all eat their words sooner or later.”

“Nah, it’s still the fugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Evan said. It was more for tradition’s sake than anything, and Ransom made a point of giving the keys to Puppy instead. 

Evan didn’t really mind driving the thing, even if it looked like he was en route to picking his nonexistent kids up from soccer practice. They needed something with enough space for all the shit they would need on a weeklong camping trip, plus all the extra shit they probably wouldn’t need but wanted to bring anyway. The rust around the wheels was nasty, though.

Their goal had been to leave the apartment at seven in the morning, but Evan had refused to get out of bed and Puppy had spilled a carton of orange juice right when they were about ready to go. Now, they finally get out of Boston a little after nine. It’s not too bad, Evan thinks. Basically what he expected. 

“Hey,” Puppy says. It’s his sixth time trying to convince Evan to change the music. Which is never going to happen, but Evan is enjoying the attempts anyway. “Can we listen to my stuff if I give you road head?”

“Jesus, Puppy.” Evan actually considers that one. “No. And you wouldn’t have room in this car anyway.”

“Bleh.”

Evan reaches over and squeezes Puppy’s knee. Things are still new enough, two months in, that the way Puppy responds -- a little jerk of his legs, a little sigh -- kind of goes straight to Evan’s dick. “Love you.”

“Yeah, but why do you hate my eardrums?”

“Peter,” Evan says, just because he knows it’ll make Puppy roll his eyes. “You’re from small town America. Your dad’s a pastor. I’m pretty sure you’re legally required to like country music.”

Puppy just reclines his seat back, yawning and stretching. Evan’s eyes get caught on the curve of his throat. “You have the worst taste. In everything.”

It’s a continuation of their debate from the night before, when Puppy had practically had to wrestle the remote out of Evan’s hand to get him to turn off this trashy British reality show. So, like, he has a point. “Not in guys, though,” Evan says. 

He’s going for a laugh, maybe a judgmental look at how cringy it is. But Puppy lights up, flushing pink, and Evan feels almost dizzy with it. That he can just give Puppy those feelings, that they can feel this way together. 

He turns up the music anyway. Puppy hits him in the shoulder, and they’re laughing when they cross over the Mystic River.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


They keep going, long enough that Puppy forgets himself and starts singing along to the radio. They stop in Portland, the little one, just long enough for Puppy to get a touristy t-shirt and Evan to get an even uglier one. 

They don’t stop again until they reach the capital city of Maine. “Should we get, like, lobster? Since we’re here?” Puppy asks. He’s the one controlling the GPS.

“I dunno,” Evan says.

They pull into a Chipotle parking lot instead. There are a decent amount of cars there already, but Evan gets a spot in front of one of the restaurant windows so they can at least sort of keep an eye on their stuff. 

He likes that they’re at a Chipotle. Some of his friends -- the pretentious ones -- would probably get all judgey about going to a chain restaurant on a vacation, but this is exactly what Evan wants, and exactly what Puppy wants. 

This was the kind of thing they’d done a lot in college. Evan would bring his accounting homework, Puppy would bring his personality, and they’d put away an unspeakable amount of burritos until Evan got through his assignments. He knows Puppy’s favorite orders by heart, just like he knows -- unfortunately -- exactly how those orders affect Puppy’s digestive system.

“I don’t want to stop again until we get there,” Evan warns Puppy as they wait in line. 

“Oh my god, I can handle spicy food,” Puppy says, and orders his burrito mild. 

They sit at a table with someone else’s straw wrappers on it. Neither of them bother to clean it up. “We’ve got lots of boring driving ahead of us,” Puppy says. “So let me know if you change your mind and wanna pull over for something fun.”

It shouldn’t be sexy or seductive or whatever when Puppy’s talking through a huge mouthful of chicken, rice, beans, and guac, but Evan’s easy. He’s never been half-hard in a Chipotle before, but he’s also never had a boyfriend before, so this is all pretty new. “I want to get there by three,” is all he says back, and Puppy smirks a little.

They dig into their burritos in barely interrupted silence after that. Evan keeps looking at Puppy’s hand on the table, wondering if it would be weird for him to reach out and hold it. Like, he knows Puppy would like it, but he doesn’t know what people in this part of Maine think. Or maybe people around here are totally normal, but some random person who just happens to be in this Chipotle would --

Evan grabs Puppy’s hand, squeezes it. “You have so much sour cream on your mouth, bro.”

It’s weird, but Evan can tell just from the look on Puppy’s face that he’s thinking about daring Evan to kiss it off. But the moment passes, and Puppy just wipes it off with his finger, sucking it clean when he’s done. “All gone?”

“Shit,” Evan says, and he leans forward to kiss Puppy anyway. Doesn’t even think about it.

And nobody cares. 

Probably. Evan doesn’t really know, is the thing.

“Hey,” Puppy says when they’re settled back into eating. “Do you want me to drive when we get back out there?”

“Do you _want_ to drive?”

Puppy smiles. “No.”

“Then whatever. I’ll do it.” It’s not really that long. Less than five hours. Evan catches Puppy’s hand again and holds it there while they finish their burritos.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Evan has to pull over three gas stations later to use the bathroom. Puppy laughs at him when he gets back in the car, but then he gets distracted by the radio and starts singing about being a 90s baby with an 80s Mercedes.

_I want to fucking marry him,_ Evan thinks. They’ve only been dating for a month and a half, so that officially makes Evan crazy. He doesn’t say anything. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Puppy says when he catches Evan looking at him. “The country music isn’t _that_ bad.”

Evan shakes his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Evan’s surprised at how quickly they get the van unpacked once they arrive at their cabin. Usually one of them gets lazy when they have a job to do, or one of them gets distracted, but Puppy’s stir-crazy after the long ride and wants to get moving as soon as possible. 

“Let’s go canoeing,” Puppy says as soon as the last of their stuff is unloaded. “We can rent them super close by.”

Evan’s kind of more in the mood for a nap. It’s fucking hot out. “I dunno, I’m tired. Maybe in an hour?” Their cabin has a queen bed plus a bunk bed, and he’s pretty sure it’s his destiny to flop down on one of those mattresses, like, immediately. 

Puppy looks like it might be physically paining him not to argue, but he shrugs it off. “You’re such an old man,” he says instead. “Take your nap. I’ll go check out the campground. But I’m waking you up in an hour and we’re going no matter what.”

That sounds good to Evan. He grabs his pillow and crawls into the queen bed.

He must fall right asleep, because before he knows it Puppy is half-sprawled across him, fingers threading through Evan’s hair. “Hey,” Evan says. His voice is scratchy, and he buries his face in Puppy’s chest for a second. “Love you.”

“Aw, Evan.” Puppy squeezes him, so tight it’s hard to breathe, and then scoots back so Evan can sit up. He slides back over into Evan’s lap as soon as Evan’s upright. “Are you awake now?”

Puppy smells so good. He smells like strawberries again, after Evan very casually bought him a new bottle of shampoo when his last one ran out. “Mm. Sort of.”

Puppy runs his fingers through Evan’s hair, slower this time. “Do you need me to help you wake up?” 

Evan’s heart kind of trips over itself for a second. “Uh. Yeah.” 

Puppy grins at him, then rolls off his lap and starts using his legs to try and push Evan off the bed. “Wake up! We’re going canoeing!” 

“Stop, what the fuck,” Evan grumbles, but he can’t help laughing. He grabs Puppy around the waist and rolls off the bed with him. It kind of hurts when Puppy’s elbow lands on Evan’s stomach, but he’s still laughing. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“Yeah.” Puppy climbs off him and reaches down a hand to help him up. “I have needs. Let’s get out on a lake, dude.”

Evan scrambles to comb his hair, find his Tivas, and change into a new shirt. They’re just leaving the cabin when Evan actually looks at his watch. “Hey. It’s only been forty minutes, you dick.”

Puppy climbs into the driver’s seat and gives him the most unrepentant face probably in the history of the world. “Time is money, Evan.”

“You’re the worst,” Evan says again, but as they pull out of their parking space it takes way too much self-control to stop himself from grabbing Puppy’s hand.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Canoeing is fun. Evan likes the pink on Puppy’s nose where it’s starting to burn, and he likes how Puppy kisses him to say thank you when he suggests that Puppy put on more sunscreen. He likes how it feels to cool off when Puppy splashes him with the paddle, and he likes how Puppy yelps a little when Evan splashes him back. 

“Did you pack snacks?” Evan asks, when they’re floating in the middle of the lake. They’d been sitting in the center of the canoe, Puppy wrapped up in Evan’s arms, until it wasn’t fun anymore because they were both too sweaty. 

Now Evan lies back and stares at the endless blue of the sky. He listens as Puppy skirts his fingers across the lake, and smiles when a few cold drops hit his face. “Puppy?”

“No. I thought you did.”

Evan drops his eyes from the sky. “How would I pack snacks when I was sleeping?”

Puppy makes a face, like Oops-I-fucked-up and Don’t-be-mad-at-me all at the same time, and then he snorts a little. “We can catch a fish.”

“With our bare hands.” Evan rolls over, slowly so as not to tip the canoe, and looks down into the water.

“You go first,” Puppy whispers. His voice breaks a little at the end, a barely controlled giggle, and then he laughs in earnest as Evan punches him in the shoulder. “Shit, I’m so hungry.”

Evan thinks, lazy and slow, about kissing Puppy, but it’s too hot out. Their faces would probably just get all smeary. “Then we gotta go back to the mainland. I’ll steer.”

Puppy grabs his paddle and shoots Evan a sour look. “You always want to steer.”

Now that they’re up and moving, Evan is becoming vaguely aware that he has a headache. He feels like it’s a sun thing. He needs to actually remember to bring a water bottle next time. “Maybe I like sitting behind you.”

“ _Maybe I like sitting behind you,_ ” Puppy mimics in a super unflattering voice. Evan can’t be mad, because they both know the real reason is that steering is less grunt work. “Alright, babe, you ready?”

Evan dips his paddle in the water. He has the flat, deep blue of the lake, rolling green bluffs around the shores, Puppy’s golden hair and how it shines in the sun. The view really isn’t bad. “Let’s go.”

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


The sun sets, purple and pink and blue. 

Puppy’s the one who knows how to build a fire, so Evan sits on a folding chair and watches. The tinder is burning, low and bright in the firepit, and Evan smiles at the look of concentration on Puppy’s face as he arranges dry wood around the kindling. He watches as Puppy’s fingers come away sooty, as he wipes them on his jeans. He’s never seen this side of Puppy before, but he knows Puppy’s family has been taking him camping every year since forever, and it’s kind of awesome.

“You could use lighter fluid,” he suggests. Mostly to tease.

“For cheaters,” Puppy mumbles, and Evan smirks into his mug of hot chocolate. 

Finally, when the fire doesn’t need someone prodding it constantly, Puppy settles in the chair next to Evan. “I hope you’re turned on by my manliness,” he says.

“Very much.”

“Want s’mores?”

Evan reaches over and ruffles Puppy’s hair. He does it again when Puppy pretends to be annoyed. “I’ll make them. It’s about time you had a s’more that didn’t taste like an ashtray.”

It’s quiet as Evan toasts their marshmallows, nothing but crickets and what sounds like a loon calling from some distance. He has Puppy hold the graham cracker and chocolate in place as he slides the perfectly toasted marshmallows on.

Puppy meets his eyes as he takes a bite. 

_Jesus,_ Evan thinks. Everything about his boyfriend turns him on. He lifts Puppy’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist, once. They can’t really cuddle, in separate folding chairs as they are, but they hold hands as they watch the sunset slip into darkness, Puppy’s head tucked against Evan’s shoulder.

When it’s too dark to see much of anything, and they’ve already been playing footsie for awhile, Puppy starts sliding his hand further and further up Evan’s leg. 

“ _Puppy,_ ” Evan groans. He practically folds over. “You’ve gotta get the fire first.”

Puppy leans in, presses close enough that he must be smelling Evan’s neck. “Evan,” he whispers. He slips his fingers under Evan’s shirt.

“Puppy, get the fire, get the fire.” He pulls Puppy to his feet, twists Puppy’s hair around his fingers with probably a little too much force as he pulls him up in a kiss. “I don’t know how, you gotta get the fire.”

“No fucking romance,” Puppy grumbles. “Always in a hurry.” He licks into Evan’s mouth one more time, then moves to take care of the fire.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


When Puppy had suggested they keep the bottom bunk open so they can fuck there instead of in the queen bed, Evan had thought it was weirdly fussy of him. But ten minutes of sex later -- Puppy gets Evan close with his mouth, then climbs in his lap and rides him, every gasp and intake of breath shuddering into Evan’s mouth -- Evan surveys the damage and realizes that Puppy was onto something.

“Onto your dick,” Puppy mumbles when Evan voices this thought aloud. He’s sleepy and flushed and pretty, stretched out over the wet spot. He sighs and closes his eyes when Evan brushes back his hair. “Ouch.”

Evan automatically moves his hand down to touch him, but pulls back just in case. “It hurts?”

Puppy bumps their knees together. “In a good way.”

“Does it --” Evan hadn’t really planned on saying this. “Does it bug you that I haven’t, like. Received? At all?”

Puppy rolls over to look at him better. “I can do whatever. Bottoming is good, but for realsies, if you ever want me to fuck your brains out, I totally will. And I’ll love it.”

That’s the thing. Evan thinks he’d love it too, except for the whole process it takes to make it happen. He’s only tried a couple times, in the shower when he thought maybe fantasizing a lot would make it easier, but his asshole is not exactly on board to even take a finger, let alone a dick. 

But it’s Puppy. “Okay,” he says, and clutches Puppy’s hand so hard it’s got to hurt. 

Puppy kisses him, sweet as a thank-you and more possessive than normal. “Okay.” He grins, and Evan’s stomach gets all dumb. “We can work up to it, though. Think you can take a whole finger tomorrow?”

“Uh --”

“Maybe just the pinky.” Puppy sits up and stretches, groaning ridiculously loud. “Hey, can you -- shit. We didn’t pack wet wipes.”

Evan leans down for the duffle on the floor and pulls a pack of wipes from the side pocket. “Got it, babe.”

Puppy looks at him with goddamn hearts in his eyes. And Evan -- well, he’s getting used to it.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


In the morning, they drive to a hiking trail that’s supposed to have great blueberry picking. Puppy’s wearing a raggedy white muscle shirt and Evan keeps losing track of his breathing. 

“I’m gonna cry, these are so good,” Puppy says around his finger in his mouth. He’s eating too many, sucking juice off his fingertips and not bothering to look innocent about it. “Dude, you’re not even eating any.”

Evan waves his gallon Ziploc bag in the air. “Not done yet. Stop stealing our berries.”

“But they’re so good,” Puppy says. His eyes glimmer. “Come on, you can taste.”

Evan’s brain, like, flickers or something, and before he can finish stammering out an answer Puppy is sliding into his lap, warm fingers tugging at Evan’s collar. Puppy kisses him, wet and sweet and so, so good that Evan makes a super embarrassing whimper sound when Puppy finally pulls back.

Then Puppy kisses him again, and again, until their hands won’t leave each other’s bodies and they have to rush back to the van. “Cabin,” Puppy says against Evan’s throat, so raw that Evan feels it all through his body, and they don’t notice they forgot their gallon bags of blueberries until an hour later.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


“Yummy,” Puppy says sadly. 

Evan pokes at the sausage. “Three second rule?” It’s hard to sound optimistic when he can still see some dirt on it, but it comes off easily enough when he rubs his fingers on it. Which transfers grease to his fingers. “Ew.”

Puppy moves his stick closer to the fire, and the grease on his sausage sizzles. “So these nature sticks are dirty as fuck. I think I’m getting why people buy skewers now.”

There had definitely been a spider crawling on Evan’s stick before he brushed it off earlier. “Nah, roughing it’s fun. Pass me another sausage, babe.”

He does. It’s disgusting.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Puppy is on Evan’s beach towel, the tan expanse of his back all under Evan’s eyes, his fingers. “You okay?” Puppy asks. 

Evan can’t see his face, but he knows Puppy’s checking on him because of the PDA thing. Because sometimes when they aren’t hiding, Evan’s skin feels like there’s something alive and horrible squirming right below the surface, no matter how hard he tries to focus on Puppy. It’s weird, because at Samwell it never bothered Evan when Puppy sat on his lap in front of other people, or when they fell asleep on the couch together and their captain found them there. But that was different, everything explained away as a joke, as a bro thing, and now Evan doesn’t have anything to hide behind. But --

Maybe it’s because they’re in a different state. Maybe it’s because Evan’s day-drunk on Budweiser. Or maybe it’s because Puppy’s skin is soft and warm under Evan’s hands, soaking up sunscreen and glowing in the sunshine. But Evan doesn’t give a single shit if people are watching. He rubs sunscreen against Puppy’s sides, plants a kiss on his shoulder. “I’m great.”

By the time Puppy turns around, Evan is biting his lip hard to keep his swim trunks looking normal. Puppy’s breathing loud enough for Evan to hear it, blinking slowly through dazed eyes. 

“You’re beautiful,” Evan murmurs into Puppy’s collarbone. He stays there, smelling the coconut sunscreen and the salt of Puppy’s skin until he thinks they’re both mostly calm. “Do me?”

Puppy catches Evan’s wrist. He grabs the sunscreen bottle, leans back so Evan can see his grin. “Sure. Roll over.”

Evan doesn’t think it should really take ten minutes to get sunscreen on his back, but he’s not complaining.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


They take over thirty photos together, walking back to the cabin under a perfect sunset: Puppy standing behind Evan with his arms wrapped around Evan’s waist, Puppy climbing up on Evan’s back, Puppy smiling at Evan like he’s something magical while Evan stands there like an idiot with his eyes closed. There’s a lot of Evan with his eyes closed. There’s pictures with both of them smiling, both laughing, both looking at each other with embarrassingly intense expressions on their faces, both sticking their tongues out at the camera. 

“We don’t have any fucking service,” Puppy wails a few minutes later, their cabin in sight.

Evan reflexively worries that a little kid could have heard that. He’s becoming middle-aged or something. “You wouldn’t have been able to pick a caption anyway.”

Puppy shoves him, not really meaning it but still hard enough to make Evan stumble a few steps. “How am I supposed to enjoy an experience if I can’t Instagram it, Evan? Answer me that.”

“Sit with me,” Evan says. He eases into the swinging chair in front of their cabin, leaving one arm up to open up a space for his boyfriend. “Take more pictures.”

“Okay,” Puppy sighs, like it’s the biggest tragedy of all time, but he cuddles up against Evan anyway. “I’m so heartbroken. And you look really pretty in the sunset, bro.”

Evan has had a perfect day. He kisses Puppy’s face, his jaw and his ear and his neck, and it’s even more perfect. “Just use it as a TBT later, dude.”

“You’re a genius,” Puppy says. Which -- duh.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


They go fishing. 

Puppy applies his sunscreen carefully before they go out on the boat. Evan puts a little on his face but leaves his arms and legs free. He tans easily and doesn’t really burn, or at least he thinks he doesn’t.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Puppy says through gritted teeth. It’s not, like, an actual bubbling up of adoration or anything -- Puppy just needs to give himself a reason to pull the seaweed off his line. “Ugh.” 

Evan thinks Puppy’s bad attitude toward fishing is all in his head, but he doesn’t say that. “We can save that for a salad later,” he says, because that’s the joke his dad always makes when they go fishing. 

“Ha, ha,” Puppy says, sour, and Evan smirks at him. 

They rock back and forth on the lake’s surface, watching the water in silence and alternating between bobbing their lines and reeling in, just like Evan taught Puppy. When Evan gets too sweaty, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and checks his line again. It’s perfect.

“I saw this place on Google Maps that has forty different flavors of ice cream,” Puppy suddenly says. Evan doesn’t look up from his line. “We should totally go there after this. Do you think you could eat six scoops? That’s their biggest size. You get a free hat if you finish it.”

Evan reels his line in another yard, then goes back to bobbing it up and down.

“I literally could. Finish it. It’d be fun to get six different flavors. Like, key lime pie, marshmallow, superman, rocky road, and maybe raspberry chocolate chip?” Puppy blows out his breath. “Oh my god, talk to me. I don’t care that you think fishing is supposed to be this sacred holy time to look at trees or whatever. I’m bored.”

Evan looks over at Puppy. He smiles serenely and then slowly turns his head to look back out at the water again.

“Oh, look who’s so funny,” Puppy says.

Evan does think it’s pretty funny, but he isn’t laughing later that evening when his arms, legs, chest, back, and even the tops of his feet are a brilliant, painful red. The free hat helps a little, though.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


“Not so tight,” Evan mutters. “Hey, hey. Ouch.”

Puppy kisses his collar bone, the touch gentle and soft. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll try -- _oh_ \-- dude, you can’t fuck me like that and not expect -- _oh_ \--”

Okay, so Puppy has a point. Evan tries to slow down his hips, but it’s hard to stop. Puppy’s riding him, not pressed up chest-to-chest like normal, but seated carefully back on Evan’s thighs, far enough away that he won’t make Evan’s sunburn hurt worse.

It’s probably a mistake to have sex when Evan is this badly sunburned, anyway. Whatever. Evan makes a lot of mistakes.

But with every thrust of Evan’s hips, Puppy’s fingers dig harder into his shoulders, and that fucking hurts. “Maybe --” Evan pants, trying to think. “Maybe we could change positions.”

There aren’t a lot of ways for them to have sex without any physical contact to Evan’s torso, which is where the worst of it is. All their old favorite positions are too painful, and Evan already wimped out earlier when Puppy tried to finger him. But Puppy is all too enthusiastic when he throws himself across the mattress, feet skimming the floor, face buried in the pillow, ass high in the air, and Evan can see how that would work. He moves to stand behind Puppy, rubs a hand across the small of Puppy’s back as he guides himself in again, and yeah. 

This works.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


It’s their last day. Puppy shakes out the rugs outside the cabin, and Evan watches his shoulders work.

“Are you gonna help clean up, or are you gonna stand there undressing me with your eyes all day?” Puppy says when he’s done.

“I can do both.” To prove it, Evan picks up the broom that had been propped up in the corner and starts sweeping the floor without taking his eyes off Puppy’s body. He keeps it up until Puppy is laughing, but then he has to go back and actually do a decent job. 

Puppy grabs the dustpan. “Bring it all to me, baby,” he says. He leans forward and dances his ass up around in the air, right in time to the Fifth Harmony song that’s playing. “I’m ready.”

Evan hates Puppy’s music. He loves Puppy, and maybe in a way that kind of means he loves Puppy’s music. He doesn’t know.

“That’s the last of it,” Puppy says ten minutes later, panting a little after he shoves his own brand new purple leopard-print suitcase into the back of the van. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.” Evan loops his fingers around Puppy’s wrist and pulls him in for a kiss. It lingers a bit, goes on and on until Evan’s heart is pounding and Puppy’s biting at him. When Evan finally needs to breathe, he rests his head on Puppy’s shoulder, kisses him there. “And now that we’ve been listening to your white girl pop for the last hour, it’s my turn again. You know what that means.”

Puppy pulls back, glaring at him. “No.”

“Another country-western drive, like God fucking intended. It’s my turn, bro.”

Puppy groans. “This is a toxic relationship.” But he can’t be convincingly mad for long, and in a second he’s leaning back against the hood of the car, pulling Evan down on top of him. 

“This is super romantic of us,” Evan gasps out a minute later. “Too bad you can’t Instagram it.”

He expects another joke in response, maybe a fake pout. Instead, Puppy lets his head fall back against the hood. “I love you,” he says, almost shy even though it’s possibly the billionth time he’s said it. He looks older than when he walked through the door of their freshman dorm room for the first time, brighter than their graduation day when they hadn’t been speaking, happier than Evan can remember ever seeing him from any of their time at Samwell. 

Evan kisses him again, once on the center of his chest and once on the tip of his nose. “You know I love you too,” he says, and he aches with all the effort it takes to keep the tears from rising up in his throat. “Always will.”

“Yeah,” Puppy says, and he’s the most beautiful thing Evan has ever seen. It doesn’t really matter where they are, Evan thinks. He’s happy wherever, as long as he’s got this one with him. 

“Shotgun,” Puppy says suddenly, which is stupid, and he squeezes Evan’s ass as he scrambles out from under him.

They get in the minivan. “Ready?” he asks. His seatbelt is buckled. So is Puppy’s. He doesn’t want this summer to end.

Puppy turns on the radio and smiles when he hears a song he likes. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I still have more I want to do with this series, so if you’re already subscribed feel free to keep it that way! And whether you love country music like Evan or hate it like Puppy, I hope you can at least rock out to the song 80s Mercedes.


End file.
